


[In Which The Issue Resolves Itself]

by Exal



Series: 12 Conversations About One Thing [6]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Childbirth, Drabble, F/M, Gen, Gregor improves his diction, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, Taguel, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29753595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Exal/pseuds/Exal
Summary: "I wouldnevergive my child a man-spawn name." Postwar, post-marriage, after everything has settled down, this is how Gregor and Panne decide how to name their newborn child.
Relationships: Gregor/Velvet | Panne
Series: 12 Conversations About One Thing [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2133747
Kudos: 6





	[In Which The Issue Resolves Itself]

###  **Conversation 6 [In which the issue resolves itself]**

It was raining.

Gregor knew this because he was staring up from the gutter he was lying in, and raindrops were hitting his face. Hmm. Gregor was also lying in a gutter. It was important to notice these details.

“You've got to stop doing this,” said a low voice Gregor immediately recognized as his wife's. Panne's head appeared over him, blocking the rain. She was so thoughtful.

“Why? Gregor finally has gutter just way Gregor likes it,” said Gregor, running his hand over the road's rocky surface.

“Gregor,” said Panne, “I'm pregnant.”

Gregor's heart leapt in happiness. He leaped up and embraced Panne, and felt Panne return the embrace with a soft chuckle. A child! He was ecstatic, he was overjoyed, he...

“Gregor should _not_ have gotten up so quickly,” Gregor stated, and then promptly turned and deposited everything in his stomach into the gutter.

“The ancestors protect us...” muttered Panne.

Gregor finished vomiting, spat, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Whoo!” gasped Gregor, “When was Gregor eating shrimp?”

“Focus, Gregor!” shouted Panne. Gregor turned back towards his wife and went for another hug, but Panne pushed him away. “You can't live like this. Not with a child. You can't spend days out of the house on questionable jobs! You cannot stay out all night drinking! You cannot be waking up in strange gutters!”

“Oy! Gregor knows this gutter very well.”

“This is not the time, man-spawn!” Panne said, nearly screaming, “I _will not be_ with a man who would behave so irresponsibly around his young!” Panne took several deep, rasping breaths.

“...Gregor knows.”

“What?” asked Panne.

“Gregor did not have...best of parents,” Gregor said, quietly, “Mother was being drunk, Father was being strict. Sometimes they would switch for few months. Childhood was not easy. It is making Gregor into man Gregor is, and they were not deserving ends they got, but...” Gregor shook his head. “Gregor will being better than his parents. Gregor is swearing not to be absent, or cruel, or drunken sot.” He paused. “...If current hangover does not kill Gregor first. Is definite possibility.”

Panne shook her head, but she was smiling. “You are incorrigible. But I believe you,” she said, as several drops of rain left shining trails on her cheeks.

Gregor laughed. “Good! Is time for celebration! Let us be having celebration breakfast!”

“It is nearly noon, Gregor.”

“Celebration brunch, then!”

* * *

Flurries were still falling as Gregor shoveled the courtyard patio of the chalet he was employed at. Gregor had never before shoveled snow as part of a sellsword job. Gregor did not like it.

 _No,_ Gregor mentally corrected himself as he hefted another load of snow over the stone railing into the ever-growing pile he was creating, _not 'Gregor.' 'I.'_ Pronouns were important. Pronouns and past participles. Gregor had been taking diction lessons in the evenings. After all, Yarne spoke normally enough, so Gregor figured the other version of him must have worked on his language skills at some point too.

“Hey, Gregor?” came a voice from behind him, and Gregor turned. It was one of the other men hired to protect the chalet. The other mercenary was young, no older than 17, and Gregor couldn't be bothered to remember his name. “There's a woman at the gate, says she's your wife and has your lunch?”

Gregor leaned on his shovel. “What is this woman looking like?” he asked.

The boy bit his lip before saying, “Uh, pretty athletic, dull purple armor, about yea tall?” He held a hand several inches over his head.

“Is she having brown fur and pointy rabbit ears?”

The other merc scratched the back of his head. “I, uh, wasn't sure if that was polite to mention.”

Gregor guffawed. “Tell boss I am going on break,” he said, “Finish up shoveling, okay?”

Gregor found his wife at the front gate of the mansion and, after a greeting and kiss, they managed to find a relatively snow-free spot underneath a tree where they could eat lunch. Honestly, Gregor would have preferred Panne to work with him, as she often did, but Gregor's current employer was a paranoid man with a distinct dislike of women, and so Panne stayed in town. 

The job, in fact, was extremely dull, but Gregor didn't mind too much. It was just a month-long gig to get a little gold put aside before he and Panne headed to the eastern coast to visit Panne's old warren.

They ate their vegetable stew in peaceful, intimate silence. Gregor had lived his entire adult life before marriage not knowing this kind of quiet was possible, and he knew Panne had felt the same. In the past, for the both of them, any peace was just a prelude to combat or terror; every calm preceded a storm. Being able to sit with Panne in complete serenity was Gregor's favorite part of married life, more so because he knew Panne enjoyed it as well.

Still, it had to be broken sometime. As Panne got out dessert, those unbearably sweet taguel fruits, Gregor said, “Gre—” he coughed. “I am having question.”

Panne cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You remember my brother, yes?”

“'Gregor's brother, Gregor,' as you so ably described him.”

“Oy. In any of the cases, yes. Gregor is thinking that perhaps we could name coming child after him.”

Panne's brow furrowed. Before she said anything, though, Gregor continued. “I am knowing you want to name baby Yarne, if it is same child as older-Yarne, or perhaps another old taguel name, but...I would like to honor my brother, Gregor.”

Panne touched her abdomen—she was showing, surprisingly much for how far along she was. “This is a taguel child, even if man-spawn blood will flow through his veins. The taguel are to be remembered through my children, if nothing else.”

“Gregor knows, but...” Gregor's poor diction was coming back, but he found himself not caring. “Unless there is tragic accident, you and Yarne and other children are living for many decades. Gregor is human; Gregor will be very lucky to see eightieth birthday. Gregor would like...to know a bit of Gregor's family lives on for the centuries.”

Panne sighed, but this was not the long-suffering sigh Gregor was so used to hearing, but a sigh of realization and mild guilt. “Beast-wearers do live far longer then man-spawn,” she muttered. She turned to Gregor, her gaze meeting his, and placed one of her hands on his. “You shall live on through your children no matter what they are named. You know that, correct?”

Gregor gave his wife a lopsided grin. “Mmm, but is a question of directness, of tribute!”

“So, you want him to be named 'Gregor?'”

Gregor popped one of the fruits in his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. “Hmm, no, that would be leading to much confusion. I was thinking 'Wilhelm.'”

“You plan to honor your brother, Gregor, by giving your child the name you gave up when you took his.” Panne's tone was flat.

“It was sounding like good idea when I thought of it.” Gregor commented, with a chuckle. “And who knows? Perhaps baby is Yarne, and this whole conversation was pointless.”

“There was a time I could not imagine this conversation happening,” said Panne, after eating a fruit of her own. “For a time, I thought the taguel would die with me. And certainly, I would _never_ give my child a man-spawn name. 

“...I am the last taguel. There is such importance in keeping the taguel names alive, and yet...” Panne looked at Gregor. “I promise nothing. But I shall consider it.”

“Is all I am asking,” said Gregor.

Soon enough, Gregor parted from his wife with a kiss, and returned to his shoveling, with a light heart.

* * *

Snow poured down from the sky with the force of thrown daggers, thick as fog, blanching the landscape into incomprehensibility. Already, the blizzard had piled snowdrifts to the bottom sill of the house's windowframe, and it showed no sign of stopping.

Gregor and Panne had been living in a village less then a day's travel from Panne's former warren. While they had made every plan for Panne's childbirth to be a normal one—they had arranged things with the village midwife and found a healer—Gregor and Panne were taken by surprise, first by the snowstorm, and secondly by Panne going into labor nearly three weeks early. They had just managed to brave the weather and trudge to the midwife's house.

Now, Panne laid in the back room as Gregor waited nervously in the entry room. Fortunately, the fire blazing in the fireplace warmed the room enough to be quite comfortable. Gregor mostly spent the time looking out the window at the dwindling visibility and accumulating snow. The paths he and his wife had made to get to the house had already long vanished.

Panne let out another long, uncomfortable moan from the next room. Gregor winced; he hated hearing his wife in pain, although at least this moan did not have her cursing the entire man-spawn race. Again.

After a pause, the door to the next room opened, and the midwife walked in. She was a short, rotund woman with hair in two gray braids. “The contractions are three minutes apart, and she's nearly fully dilated,” the midwife said, squeezing water from a damp rag and throwing the rag on the clothes horse adjacent to the fire, “if that craven child doesn't come back soon—”

“He is coming,” stated Gregor. “Worry not.” Gregor's gaze returned to the window, and within moments he could see a large dark shape moving swiftly towards the house. “Ha ha! Be speaking of the devil!” he shouted. The midwife was not amused.

Gregor threw open the door. Cold air and snow poured in, fortunately accompanied by Yarne, in his more humanoid form. By the wrist, he dragged in a form absolutely covered with snow, more resembling a snowman than person. Gregor shut the door as soon as they had entered.

Yarne rubbed his bare feet on the carpet; flurries drifted from his fur. “Sorry about the rough ride, but—” he stopped. The person he had entered with hadn't moved. “Alice? You okay?”

Yarne removed the snow-sodden cloak to free the young woman in the troubadour's cape underneath, but she still barely reacted. Alice had a extremely tight grip on her staff, and stared, wide-eyed, into space, breathing heavily. Yarne waved a hand in front of her. He brushed a few snowflakes from her blonde bangs. “Alice?”

Gregor crossed his arms. “It looks like she has the shocking of shells.”

“That...” Alice breathed, then suddenly shouted, “... **WAS TOTALLY AWESOME**!” Yarne jumped back, but she grabbed him by the wrists. “I...I didn't know _anything_ could go that fast! My Gods, you can just _do that_?!”

Gregor was amused at this, but Yarne was nearly panicked. “Y-y-y-y...I-I-I-I, I mean, I guess...?”

Alice stared at Yarne. “You are the most amazing person I've ever met,” she said.

The midwife cleared her throat. “If you're done soaking the floorboards, Alice, there is a patient waiting on you.”

Alice started in surprise, then bowed respectfully and joined the midwife as she went back to the other room.

“I think pretty healer likes you,” said Gregor.

“Yeah...great...” muttered Yarne. He placed the sodden cloak on the clothes horse, then got down on all fours and shook his body, shaking off the snow that was still on him. Gregor figured the midwife would not appreciate snow spattered all over her house, but chose not to say anything about it.

Gregor and Yarne sat down on the couch and began waiting. “It was very brave thing you did,” Gregor said, to break the silence, “going out into the blizzard, bringing her here. Not everyone would do that.” He shrugged. “Not everyone can turn into a rabbit big enough to ride, but still. I am proud of you.”

“Yeah, well, you gotta have a healer, right?” said Yarne nervously. This was, of course, true. The care team for nearly every birth on the continent was a midwife and a cleric or troubadour. Or a priest, if the situation absolutely demanded it. Panne was fortunate enough that the village's richest man's middle daughter had trained as a troubadour and was willing to help. Had everything gone as planned, Alice would have been right there with Panne from the beginning of the labor.

Still, something about Yarne's tone unnerved Gregor. “Yarne, is everything all right?”

Yarne groaned, just in time to match a moan from his mother in the next room. Gregor and Yarne shared a pregnant pause, then Yarne spoke. “Look, I never told you this, 'cause I didn't want you to get scared and never have me, but...” he cleared his throat, “You—the other you, I mean—once told me that Mom died in childbirth.”

“Oof. Oh, dear.”

“I mean, I woulda got Alice anyway, right? But, like, Mom died bringing me into the world! I'm alive 'cause she died! I always felt terrible about it, and I wanted to make sure this version of me didn't have to live with that.”

“Yarne...” Gregor said, “You should not be feeling guilty. You living, Panne dying—they are two very different things, they just happened at the same time. I think other Gregor never blamed you for her death.”

Yarne smiled that nervous smile of his. “Yeah, I know, but it's still nice to hear it. Thanks, Father.” 

“I am surprised I would let you think that at all. When did other Gregor tell you about your mother dying?”

“You...were really drunk at the time.”

Gregor grimaced. “Yes, that would explain it.”

Yarne frowned again. “But do you think—”

“That was different time, different place. Things have changed, Yarne. Everything will be fine.” 

Yarne grinned and nodded. Gregor, praying for perhaps the first time in his life, pleaded with Naga to not make him a liar.

* * *

From there, it was a matter of that immortal command, “Hurry up and wait.” As the time stretched on, Gregor laid back on the couch and tried to force himself not to worry. Yarne, meanwhile, did his best to wear a circular rut in the floor. 

The snow that had entered with Yarne melted; the snow outside continued to pile up, past the windowsill and slowly up the pane. Occasionally Panne would groan again. Each time, Gregor would tense, then relax. 

At what felt like interminable length, Panne let out one long, loud, pained cry. Gregor stood, and Yarne stopped pacing. Both stared, nearly transfixed, at the closed door to the next room. And they waited. And waited a little more.

Abruptly, Alice opened the door, a smile on her face and a few beads of sweat on her forehead. Gregor fancied he could her a tiny cry from the room beyond her.

“Alright!” Alice said, “it's a b—”

“ _Alice!_ ” yelled the midwife, “ _Get your ass back in here, the show's not over yet!_ ”

“Shit,” Alice gasped. She ran back into the birthing room, closing the door behind her.

“Owwwwwwhhhhh, that's not a good thing, is it?” groaned Yarne.

“I—” Gregor blinked. “Gregor does not know.”

Gregor did not sit down. 

Yarne did not continue pacing.

The pair waited in silence.

The fire crackled.

Time dragged on.

…

…

...

Finally, at about the time Gregor felt ready to explode, the door opened again. Alice walked in. Her hair was a mess, her clothes were disheveled and lightly stained, her beret was just about to fall off her head, and the bulb on top of her staff was cloudy and broken. But she was smiling. “They're ready for you,” she stated, “I'm...I'm gonna lie down for a minute.”

Alice started for the couch, but stumbled. Yarne caught her. “Fa—dah, I'm, uh, gonna help her, okay?” 

Gregor nodded and smiled as Yarne helped Alice along. Then he walked into the back room.

Panne laid on the midwife's cot, partially covered with a blanket, soaked with sweat, and clearly exhausted, but most importantly, holding a tiny swaddled form. Gregor rushed to his wife's side, and saw beyond a doubt that this tiny creature was Yarne—even less than an hour old, he had the familiar whisker pattern and a shock of chocolate-brown hair with a sprig of red in it. Most tellingly, however, the infant took one look at Gregor and screamed in what sounded extremely similar to panic.

“Ancestors save me,” muttered Panne, giving the baby her breast, quieting the child down in an instant. “Gregor, there is another thing...” she continued, but the midwife, who Gregor just now noticed was standing next to another, smaller fire, interrupted.

“You owe that silly girl quite a bit,” she said. She was turned away. “Honestly, I wasn't positive they'd make it. There were problems with—oh, never mind. Suffice it to say, we could have been up shit creek without Alice. Must say—“ the midwife turned, and Gregor saw the tiny, rabbit-eared form in her arms. “This one's damned fortunate.”

Gregor just looked down at his wife. Panne's tired eyes sparkled. Gregor was smart enough not to ask anything, but Panne must have seen the question on his face.

She nodded. “Wilhelm.”


End file.
